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domingo, 12 de julio de 2015

Random facts on a Friday night... ok, not so random... CR- VocalesV

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I walk out of
the bedroom naked. He’s sitting in front of his laptop writing an abstract on
Clarice Lispector. We had spent several weekends reading and discussing some of
her books. We are sure he is the one who has to write about them. ‘Come to bed’
I say, looking at my own reflection in the window, a pale image against the
darkness of night. He smiles looking at me as I move towards him. His gaze is
full of intensity and love. I sat on top of him, my face facing his, I want to
steal his eyes but I can’t so I kiss him. We take our time exploring each
other’s mouths. I suck his tongue and drink his saliva, his eyes are closed and
his hands touch my body with desire and tenderness. I feel his body reacting
under his pants. ‘Come to bed’ I repeat, my face is hot and red. He stands up
and follows me, because that’s what we do, we abandon anything just to make
love together.I knew I loved
him from the moment I met him. With others, there was always a level of effort
that needed to be accomplished in order for me to love them. An effort that was
destructed at the very moment they started loving me back. I would immediately
felt disgusted and grow colder with the days, until they would walk away,
trying to find me in a tenderer version. I always hoped they succeeded. Love is
burdensome, but with him it feels light and bearable.

I’m addicted to the smell of his skin, I suck and blow him everywhere, and I don’t seem to get enough. He
opens my legs and his tongue encounters my wetness. There’s no doubt he is as
crazy about me as I am about him. He cleans me, he drinks me, and he invades me
with anticipated authority, ‘Do you want me to go inside you now? – I can
barely say yes. He is in and I am anaesthetise, I want to scream, I want to
bite him, I want to climb up a mountain and let myself fall, but all I can do
is coming with demoniac impatience. When I manage to open my eyes again, I see
his face, steady, ready, with hints of painful pleasure. He comes and a river
of dead promises comes with him. And we stay just like that, entangled and
immobile, between open doors and windows that remind us of the life outside
these walls. Our hearts beat hard enough for us to hear them and I drop all my
cynicism about love. I don’t idealise anymore, I know he is just as corrupted
as I am and I know he loves me, irremediably, but I don’t escape anymore. I’ve
made peace with those facts.Real desire lacks rationality, lucky me, since I’m tired of being so rational.
Would it last?
These days we say it will, but we carry the seed of freedom within us. The seed
is strong. Deep inside we’re scared it will not end. But how could we complain?
We’ve tasted love.He kisses my
neck, I move to disentangle our bodies, and in this very moment I agree with
Aristophanes. I kiss him again and my whole body feels ready. I am wet, full of
his fluids and I fall asleep with a smile. I hear his steps towards the laptop
after he has closed the door. ‘Literature’, I think, ‘his second lover’. I’m
more than willing to share him.